


Day Six

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: 30+ Days of TFW Imagines [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dead reader, F/M, Psychic Reader, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine being someone who was really important to Dean, but went missing and was found dead before the Pilot in Season One, and whome Dean occasionally mentions as "somebody he knew who used to..." Sam finally asks him who you were and Dean goes quiet because he still misses the shit outta you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Six

**Author's Note:**

> Y/B= Your Birthdate

"Why don't blind people go skydiving?"

"Why?"

"Because it scares the crap out of the dog!"

Dean laughs, head thrown back against the cheap motel couch. "Aw, man," he sighs, taking a swig of his eggnog and gazing across the room at the frankly pathetic tree Sam put up, decorated with air fresheners and bobbers. "There was somebody I knew who used to..." he trails off, suddenly caught up in a memory.

Sam nudges him, knocking his brother out of memory lane. "Used to what, Dean?" he asks.

"Oh, they used to tell this joke," Dean says, trying to act as if he hadn't just zoned out. "All the time, actually, so everyone knew it already. It goes like this: a grasshopper walks into a bar. The bartender says, 'Hey, we've got a drink named after you.' The grasshopper is confused and says, 'You have a drink named Steve?'"

Sam cracks up. "I wish I could've met them," he says when he's calmed down. "They sound like a riot."

"Yeah," Dean says softly. "They were."

XXXXXX

Dean doesn't mention this "somebody he used to know" often, but he always gets very quiet after he does. Sam isn't blind or stupid. He notices. It's hard not to.

It bothers Sam, in a way. After all, he's know the man his whole life. He knows everything there is to know about Dean- at least, he thought he did. Now, he's not so sure.

Every time Dean mentions this somebody, Sam wants to ask. Who are they? What happened to them? But it never feels right. Someday, though, he'll ask.

Someday.

XXXXXX

The next time Dean mentions the somebody, Sam decides to just go for it.

"Dean?" he says, pulling his brother from his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You always talk about this person you used to know. Who are they?"

Dean is very quiet for a long time, only the sound of the Impala's engine breaking the silence.

"Y/N," he says finally.

"Was she a hunter?"

Dean shakes his head. "No. She was a psychic. Not just any psychic, either. She was up there with Missouri and Pamela. Hunters came to her for help on hunts, but she never fought. She was so gentle. Wouldn't hurt a fly, really."

"What happened to her?"

His brother shakes his head. "You don't want to know."

"Tell me, please."

"She's dead, Sam. What else is there to say?"

Sam studies Dean a moment before saying, "You loved her."

Dean bites his lip and says, very quiet, "Yes."

XXXXXX

"Do you have to go?" you ask, clinging to the man. Your sweet Southern drawl is more prominent in response to your distress.

Dean sighs and presses his nose into your hair. "Someone has to take care of it. It's just a simple salt and burn, and I already know who the ghost is. I'll be back before you know it."

"I don't like you hunting alone."

"Well, until my dad gets back from his hunt with Bobby, I'm on my own. I'll be fine."

"I still don't feel good about it. Don't go, D."

"Everything will be okay. I'll call you when I stop for the night and when I reach Holtville tomorrow, and before I leave to burn the bones, and after I burn them, and right before I head back. Alright?"

You bite your lip, still feeling uneasy, but nod. Once Dean Winchester has his mind set on something, even God Himself can't change it.

Dean kisses you firmly, grabs his duffel, and heads out the door. You stand in the window with your arms folded over your chest and watch the Impala drive away.

XXXXXX

Dean keeps his promises and calls whenever he said he would. The case is a simple salt and burn, and he's finished it in no time. He tosses the shovel into the trunk of the Impala and pulls out his phone.

It rings four times, and then goes to voicemail, but he's not too concerned. It's about three in the morning and you're probably asleep. It's the thought that counts.

"Hey, Y/N," he says. "I'm done burning the bones and I promised to call. I'm going to shower and get a few hours of sleep, and then I'll head home. Sleep tight, babe. I can be home in time for breakfast tomorrow if I time things right."

Dean does exactly as he said in the voicemail. He showers, reveling in the hot water. The motel he's staying at actually has decent water pressure and he takes advantage of that. Then he falls onto his lumpy mattress and is out cold.

When he wakes, he packs quickly and checks out. He calls Y/N while he eats breakfast at a diner near the motel. You don't answer, which is strange considering it's a weekday and you're always up by seven. Frowning, Dean tries again. Still no answer. He leaves a message letting you know he's on his way back, pays for his meal, and heads out.

Dean calls several times over the course of the drive back to Blue Ridge, but you never pick up. He's started to get worried. Yeah, maybe you're just busy, but you would have let him know so he didn't call a million times. Plus, you should have picked up or called back at least once. Even on your busiest days you take breaks.

He takes the shortest route he can think of and, with no stops, makes Blue Ridge by midnight. He pulls up in front of your dark house, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The front door is unlocked when he tries it. He opens it to reveal... nothing out of the ordinary. The front walkway looks just like it always does. Coats on the hooks, shoes lined up neatly underneath them. Your sneakers are missing, but that's not uncommon. You wear them most because they're more comfortable than your other pairs and often don't bother to put them in their spot before heading upstairs for the night.

Dean makes his way slowly deeper into the dark house, one hand on his gun. The living room is all in order and your car is in the garage. After checking the kitchen, Dean heads upstairs.

He peeks into each room individually- guestroom, guestroom, bathroom, and finally, your room.

Your bed is empty.

XXXXXX

"Did you find her?" Sam asks, biting into his chicken sandwich. They're parked on the side of the road, eating.

Dean nods. "Three weeks later, her body showed up down by the river. It wasn't even anything supernatural- anything I could hunt. The guy did a piss poor job of covering his tracks and the cops caught him the next day. He was nuts- turns out he'd been stalking her for weeks." he stares down at his practically untouched burger, leaning against the hood of the Impala. "She knew something bad was coming. If I'd just listened to her... it's the only time I didn't listen and because of it she's dead."

"Dean, you can't blame yourself. I mean if this guy was as psycho as you say, he might've just bided his time and struck whenever you left her alone next. You've said it yourself- demons I get. People are crazy. There's not a whole lot else you could've done."

"If I'd just gotten there sooner-"

"You were over a day away. I'm amazed you got there as fast as you did. Dean, you did the best you could. You've got to move on."  
"Y/N wouldn't want me dwelling and blaming myself. I know. Bobby already told me."

"Well, Bobby's right. He usually is. From what you've told me, Y/N sounds like an awesome girl. She would want you to be happy. Now, come on. We've still got twelve hours till we reach Sioux Falls."

"Yeah." Dean tosses their garbage in the nearest trash can. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna drive?"

Sam smiles softly. "Sure, Dean. I'll drive."

XXXXXX

Dean parks carefully. It's pretty late and Sam's asleep back at the motel. They're on their way to a case down in Browning, Florida- some professor disappeared and Sam thinks it might have something to do with the local "mystery spot." Frankly, Dean thinks it's a load of crap, but they don't have anything better to do.

This is the first time he's been back to Blue Rride since Y/N's death. He didn't even stay long past the funeral, choosing not to linger and answer awkward questions.

He twists to open the cooler in the back seat and pull out a bouquet of yellow tulips- your favorite flower. He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car.

There are a few bunches of flowers on your grave, but Dean notes that none of them are tulips, let alone yellow ones. He kneels down and gently lays his flowers at the base of the stone.

 _Y/N Y/L/N_  
_Y/B, 1981- March 28, 2003_  
_Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea,_  
_And the Hunter Home from the Hill._

Dean smiles sadly, remembering you reciting that poem to him on many a late night.

"Hi, Y/N," he says softly. "It's been a long time, huh? I know, I'm a terrible boyfriend. Never visiting you and all. I, um, I brought your favorite flowers. I figured you might appreciate it." He stares down at his hands on his knees. "I told Sam about you a few weeks ago. Bout time, really. I mean, I mention you a lot. I just... never said your name. But he asked and I told him. It was nice, actually. Getting that all out. He said I need to stop blaming myself. Easier said than done. I mean, I've been blaming myself for years. But I'm going to try, because I know it's what you would want for me."

Dean sits back, tipping his head to look up at the stars. He breathes deeply and blinks back tears. Finally, he lowers his head.

"I miss you, Y/N," he says softly. "I miss you so much. I just... I wish there was something I could have done." He shakes his head. "I'm going to die, Y/N. I have less than a year left. I'm not going to be seeing you, though." He lets out a rough chuckle. "I'm going the other way."


End file.
